Perfect
by allara serasai
Summary: Excerpt: "They don't smell the stench of evil that makes me want to vomit till I'm dead, the smell of blood that will never leave me no matter what till I die, the wafting bile and puke from the ones my father locks up and are released only when dead."
1. Myself

Perfect  
  
I suppose I'm insane now. I suppose I'm looking at everyone and I see myself as a twisted thing. I'm not even a person anymore.  
  
God I hate this life.  
  
People don't get it, they don't see. When they see me, they see the "Slytherin Prince", they see this perfect, yet twisted piece of perfection. They see someone who is perfect in their eyes because he's so bad.  
  
But they don't get it.  
  
They don't hear the screaming, the shouting, the pleading for it to stop.  
  
They don't see the bruises, the bleeding, the family that falls apart.  
  
They don't feel the terror that grips me till I choke, the anger that destroys myself, the pressure suffocating me till I can't breathe  
  
They don't taste the tension when it happens again and again and again, the horror that makes me so sick I can't live but can't die, the fear that fills so completely when they start.  
  
They don't smell the stench of evil that makes me want to vomit till I'm dead, the smell of blood that will never leave me no matter what till I die, the wafting bile and puke from the ones my father locks up and are released only when dead.  
  
They're not the ones who feel like their heart will stop at the slightest allusion to their future. They're not the ones who have to be perfect; always perfect and never normal. They're not the ones who scream and scream but can't be heard till their dead. They're not the ones who can't really live until they die. They're not the ones who aren't allowed to die.  
  
I want to die.  
  
I want to die but can't.  
  
I want to die because I have to be perfect.  
  
I'm not.  
  
I'm too flawed to be perfect.  
  
I'm too lazy to work as hard as I can to get the perfect grades.  
  
I'm too nasty to be the philanthropist I'm supposed to appear as in public.  
  
I'm too selfish to be able to serve the Dark Lord when he comes again.  
  
I'm too disgusting to be as physically perfect as I need to be.  
  
I'm too immature to be serious beyond measure as needed when in public.  
  
I'm too cowardly to release myself the only way I can.  
  
I try to convince myself that the only reason I don't commit suicide is that I don't have a way. A way to ensure my father won't ever come and get me to put me in some shell locked up until he lets me out. He can bring me back from the dead. He wouldn't be my father if he couldn't. So that's why I don't die.  
  
That's what I try to convince myself of.  
  
But it's not true.  
  
I don't die because I'm scared.  
  
I don't kill myself because I don't want to hurt.  
  
I don't want to hurt because I'm a coward.  
  
I'm a coward because I'm flawed.  
  
I'm too wrong to be right.  
  
I try and try and try and try to be perfect.  
  
I try and try and try and try to work hard.  
  
I try and try and try and try to be nice.  
  
I try and try and try and try to be beautiful.  
  
I try and try and try and try.  
  
But it's never enough.  
  
I'm never good enough.  
  
I'm never hard-working enough.  
  
I'm never nice enough.  
  
I'm never beautiful enough.  
  
I'm never enough.  
  
I'm never enough and I hate it.  
  
I hate that I'm not perfect.  
  
But I can't help it.  
  
God I hate this life.  
  
I really am insane now. I really am twisted.  
  
But I won't change it. Because I am myself.  
  
And I'll stay that way, whether I want to or not.  
  
For in the end, you can only remain as yourself, and nothing else.  
  
I can try to be someone else:  
  
I can try to be the Mudblood Bookworm.  
  
I can try to be the bloody Boy-Who-Lived.  
  
I can try to be the redheaded Weasel.  
  
I can try, but that's all I can do.  
  
I can try to be all brains and nothing else.  
  
I can try to be popular and nothing else.  
  
I can try to be a hero and nothing else.  
  
I can try to be loyal to a fault and nothing else.  
  
I can try, but that's never going to be who I am.  
  
I will be myself.  
  
I will be mean  
  
I will be nasty  
  
I will be ugly  
  
I will be wild  
  
I will be stupid  
  
I will be socially unacceptable  
  
I will be a turncoat  
  
I will be disgusting  
  
I will be the only thing I can be  
  
I will be myself. 


	2. Ask for this

Disclaimer: If only I owned Harry Potter........ sigh.  
  
Yeah, this is turning out to be a series of angst ficlets. It's a grouping of one-shots, all of them are different POVs.  
  
Perfect  
  
I never asked for this life.  
  
I never wanted Hagrid to pick me up from that house.  
  
I never wanted to be dropped off on a doorstep to a home where I'm unwanted.  
  
I never wanted to be a savior.  
  
I never wanted to be a celebrity.  
  
I never wanted to be something people look at and expect to be perfect.  
  
Whenever people look at me, they see the Boy-Who-Lived.  
  
They don't see a real human being with talents and faults  
  
They don't see someone with likes and dislikes  
  
They don't see someone with strengths and weaknesses  
  
They don't see someone with their own thought and feelings  
  
They don't see someone with those nagging little thoughts that keep you awake at night  
  
They don't see someone begging for approval and always getting it, but never believing it.  
  
They say I'm the Boy-Who-Lived  
  
They say I'm going to save the world.  
  
They say I'm going to defeat Voldemort and free them from the cage of fear Voldemort has woven around them.  
  
They say I can do no wrong  
  
But I can.  
  
I can do everything wrong.  
  
I most likely will do everything wrong.  
  
I most likely will betray Ron's trust in my abilities  
  
I most likely will waste Hermione's research that she has spent so many long hours working on  
  
I most likely will fall into darkness, never to come out until I'm so fully warped that no one can save me  
  
I most likely will screw the world over and over and over again until it's just a hunk of charcoal.  
  
I most likely will break when the world needs me the most.  
  
Why does the world need me?  
  
They say they need a savior, and that I'm it  
  
But I'm not it.  
  
I never wanted this.  
  
I never wanted to be the one everyone runs to when they're in need.  
  
Because when they do, I know I'll break.  
  
I know I'm good for nothing  
  
I know I suck at everything I do  
  
I know I'm an idiot at everything I ever tried learning  
  
I know I don't have enough spells memorized.  
  
I know everyone thinks I'm great, but I'm not.  
  
Sometimes I feel guilty because I know I'm not good enough to be the savior I have to be.  
  
But then I feel angry; why should I have to be all that?  
  
I never asked for it and I never wanted it and I still don't ask for it and I still don't want it and I will never ask for it and I will never want it.  
  
Everyone expects everything of me and I know that I'm not good enough and when they say I am good enough, I know they're lying because there are so many flaws in what I do.  
  
Whenever I perform a spell, I try to move my wand a certain way, but it's not right, it's supposed to move another way.  
  
Whenever I'm practicing Quidditch it's so much fun and I love flying and it's incredible, but I can pick out every little flaw in what I do.  
  
It's fine  
  
It's not horrible  
  
But it's not perfect  
  
And I hate it because I have to be perfect  
  
I know that if I ever say this to anyone, they'll immediately start saying crap like, "how can you possibly do anything not perfectly?", and I might believe them  
  
For a short while  
  
Then I remember that my godfather died of my stupidity  
  
Then I remember that I'm not worthy enough to deserve kindness  
  
Then I remember all the little flaws  
  
Then I remember  
  
And everything turns black  
  
Despair clouds my mind  
  
Darkness builds and builds all around me and it conquers everything and nothing can stop it, not Hermione, not Ron, not McGonagall, not even Dumbledore.  
  
If they can't, how can I?  
  
If I ever told this to anyone, they would call me mental, because they think I'm good at the things I do  
  
I'm okay, but it's never good enough  
  
They don't understand.  
  
Do you?  
  
Do you understand what it feels like to never be exactly what's needed?  
  
Do you understand what it feels like to be an insignificant little bug, swept away in the onrushing tide  
  
Do you understand what it feels like to feel fine one second, and the next, you have to beat yourself down into the dirt to make sure you don't get a big head  
  
Do you understand what it feels like to never be able to say what you're thinking, to hold it all in, to never let it out, even when you have to or you'll die?  
  
I almost want to die  
  
I can't though  
  
Everyone expects me to be all perfect and happy, but I'm not, I'm depressed, and they all expect so much and the pressure is building up and I can't breathe I can't breathe and it's horrible and they don't know what it feels like and if I died they would bring me back to life just so I can save them but I can't I can't save them no one can least of all me who is not even worthy-  
  
I can't die  
  
I literally can't  
  
I have to save the world first  
  
But I can't save the worlds  
  
I will never save the world  
  
Does that mean I'll never die?  
  
But everyone has to die  
  
Anyone mortal, at least  
  
Does that mean I'm immortal?  
  
So I will watch the world as it slips into its final stages, I will watch as Ron and Hermione build their lives together, I will watch as their lives will end together, I will watch as everyone's lives end.  
  
I didn't ask for this. 


	3. When will it stop?

Disclaimer: Of course, I am the incredibly talented JK Rowling, that's why I'm posting fanfics on the net for free. What do you think?  
  
Perfect  
  
When will they stop?  
  
Why don't they realize that I'm not like them?  
  
They are my parents and I love them, but they expect so much.  
  
I have to believe in God  
  
I have to get perfect grades  
  
I have to be nice  
  
I have to be on top of everything  
  
I have to be energetic even if I've gone without sleep for over twenty-four hours  
  
I have to agree with their opinions  
  
I have to live by their rules and their rules only, including no makeup, even though I'm seventeen years old  
  
I have to everything that is required of me, everything that they "need" of me.  
  
I hate it  
  
I'm not perfect and they have no right to demand it of me and when I confront them about it, they claim that they don't mean it, that of course they don't care about my grades, that they want me to be happy.  
  
They don't  
  
I know it  
  
I can feel it in the way their eyes bore into me when I announce my grades  
  
I just know that if I bring home only and Outstanding, they'll be disappointed, they'll take me out of Hogwarts, they'll-  
  
They'll be disappointed in me  
  
They'll know that I'm not good enough  
  
I'm not even close to their standard of perfection  
  
And it kills me inside because I'm not the daughter I'm supposed to be  
  
I'm not good enough.  
  
They say that they hope I'll make "good choices" and I just want to scream at them  
  
I'm their daughter; they should know by now that I would never do anything like that  
  
But every day as I wake up, I am so tempted, just to get away from them, from their expectations, from their everything.  
  
But I can't because it would be so wrong  
  
But they don't see that  
  
They have lived with me for all of my life, how can they be so ignorant, how can they know me so little?  
  
I try and be angry at them when they do say something stupid, but I can't, they're my parents.  
  
I'm supposed to love them, I'm supposed to depend on them, I'm supposed to at least not hate them  
  
But I do  
  
Because they expect so much and I hate it  
  
Every time they ask me if I've done my homework during summer vacation  
  
My "darling daddy" wants me to be finished with it the day I come back from school. He won't even let me read the books I want to read, watch movies with friends I haven't seen since winter vacation, go out and just have fun.  
  
He just wants me to stay locked up in my room working  
  
When I tell him he's caging me in, that I need to breathe, he says that he lets me, I just need to finish my homework  
  
When I say that it's done (I'm lying) then he lets me do what I want to do, but he asks so many questions  
  
Where I'm going  
  
Who I'm going with  
  
How long it'll be  
  
Who's giving us rides back and forth and here and there  
  
Why doesn't he give the rides instead of someone else's parents because he doesn't want it to be "too much trouble for them"  
  
Why I have to go in the first place.  
  
He says he wants me to get out of the house  
  
But he won't even give me space to breathe.  
  
My mother is just as bad  
  
When my father is interrogating me about my company, she joins in  
  
Then later, she comes into my room and tries to talk to me  
  
When I tell her I don't feel like talking, she asks me why I'm so mean  
  
I know I'm flawed, and I don't like it, but I have to live with it  
  
Maybe that's why I hate her  
  
She made me, she's to blame for the way I am  
  
When I try to tell her this, she breaks down and rails against me and calls me devil spawn  
  
I can't love her because she says she just wants me to happy I know she doesn't I know she just wants for her to be happy and for that to happen I have to be perfect and miserable.  
  
I hate it  
  
All their expectations, pouring down, crushing me into tiny oblivion, sweeping me into the trash where I belong  
  
When will it stop? 


	4. Spoiled

Disclaimer: If you're reading this, you better know that this is just fanfiction and that I'm just some random person off the net who's story you chose to read and has no hope of ever owning Harry Potter.  
  
Perfect  
  
They call me spoiled  
  
They call me whiny brat  
  
They tell me to be thankful  
  
They say that I don't deserve all that I have  
  
I should be happy I have a family that loves me  
  
That I am able to go to a good school  
  
That I have good friends who would die for me  
  
That I have clothes on my back and good food to eat  
  
But I'm not  
  
I want more  
  
Does that make me a spoiled brat?  
  
I know I should be satisfied and so very grateful for the life I have, compared to the other lives other people live out there.  
  
If I was someone else, I could be hungry (I've grown up used to food, I don't want to go hungry)  
  
I could be hurt (am I a coward for not wanting to hurt?)  
  
I could be sick (you don't know how important your health is until you lose it)  
  
I could be dirty (I know the importance of baths)  
  
I could be raped (yes, guys can be raped, and not pleasantly either)  
  
I could be cold (I hate mornings when the stone is so ice cold under my feet, how would I survive on the streets in winter?)  
  
I could be living in a box (I know my room isn't much better, but at least it's a room)  
  
I have so many reasons to be satisfied with my life, but I'm not  
  
There's a hole in my chest where my heart is supposed to beat  
  
It's not there  
  
Whenever Hermione used to smile at me, I would feel like the king of the world.  
  
Now when she smiles, I want to rip that twist on her lips off and stomp it into the dirt.  
  
She's mocking me  
  
Like everyone else  
  
I know they say that I shouldn't listen to everyone else.  
  
I know they say that their opinions shouldn't matter  
  
But they do.  
  
I hear their whispers when I'm lying in my bed awake  
  
I know what they say  
  
Even if I don't actually hear it, I know it happens.  
  
I just know it  
  
I know they call me poor as dirt (because I am)  
  
I know they call me Weasel (because I am no better than one)  
  
I know they say I don't deserve to live (because I don't, I've done so much wrong)  
  
I know they say I'm a spoiled brat  
  
Because I am  
  
Whenever I complain, whenever I tell my parents (no matter how much I love them) that I want a better life, Percy will always step in and tell me to be ashamed of myself.  
  
Then he will bury me with his own logic  
  
He calls me a hypocrite  
  
He calls me a complainer  
  
He calls me ungrateful  
  
He calls me whiny  
  
He calls me a bastard  
  
I try and get angry at him for calling me these things  
  
But he's correct  
  
So the only thing I can do is shut my mouth and sit there, taking it  
  
I get angry, but there's nothing I can do or say  
  
Because he's correct  
  
I am a hypocrite  
  
I am a complainer  
  
I am ungrateful  
  
I am whiny  
  
I am a bastard  
  
I don't deserve to live  
  
I have such an incredible family  
  
And I hate it  
  
I'm a spoiled brat. 


	5. Invisible

Disclaimer: I don't own it. If you don't know what "it" is, what the hell are you doing on this site?  
  
Perfect  
  
I don't exist  
  
No one notices me  
  
I am invisible  
  
I used to think that people saw me, the real me, Ginny  
  
They don't  
  
They see Ron's sister  
  
They see just another Weasley  
  
They see the Weaselette  
  
They see someone poor as dirt  
  
They see a ragged little urchin  
  
They see someone who was in some widespread school rumor with Voldemort in it  
  
They see someone who should be mollycoddled  
  
They see someone who needs protecting  
  
They don't see me.  
  
They don't see the little girl who is becoming a woman  
  
They don't see the person who is crying out for someone to notice them  
  
They don't see the female who wants to be seen, just once, just once, by someone who cares.  
  
They don't see someone craving attention and never getting it, not enough, no, never enough.  
  
My mom pays attention to me, and she loves me, and she tries to do everything she can for me.  
  
She notices me, and I love her for that  
  
She listens to me when I speak  
  
She cares about my feelings  
  
She doesn't try to protect me when I don't need it  
  
She does protect me when she knows in her bones that I need a shelter  
  
She goes shopping with me, giving me the only attention I get it  
  
She notices me, and I love her for that  
  
But I need more than just a mother's acknowledgement  
  
I need the people around me to see that I am living  
  
I need them  
  
But I don't want to  
  
They hold too much control over me  
  
When they speak I jump  
  
When they look my way, my heart starts beating; maybe they'll finally see me  
  
When they look away again, my heart sinks even further down into myself than it was before.  
  
After all, why would they care?  
  
Why should they care?  
  
I'm just invisible, blending into the background  
  
When I see Harry, Ron, and Hermione, they're always together, with unbreakable bonds  
  
They're almost bathed in light, they're worshipped that much  
  
I want to be like them  
  
I want people to look at me  
  
I want people to admire me  
  
I want people to talk about me in a good way  
  
I want people to think I'm smart  
  
I want people to think I look fine  
  
I want people to think that I am at least there  
  
I want people to notice me.  
  
Whenever someone walks in a room, you acknowledge them, you see them.  
  
Whenever I walk into a room, it's a surprise if anyone even bats an eyelash.  
  
They just sit there, and the keep on doing what they were doing  
  
If I walked around the school naked except for a flamboyant neon-green bow tie in my hair, I still think no one would notice me  
  
No one has ever spoken to me unless I spoke to them first  
  
Is this what everyone feels like?  
  
I don't think so  
  
Because if everyone felt like they weren't even a part of this world, they wouldn't be  
  
And no one would exist  
  
If you don't feel like you're a part of this world, you aren't  
  
I don't feel like a part of this world  
  
Because I'm not  
  
Everyone just looks at me, and passes me by.  
  
They don't even really see me  
  
I'm invisible  
  
They don't see me  
  
Do you? 


	6. Rain

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. No infringement or whatever technical term you would insert here is meant. I'm not copywriting any of this b/c I'm lazy, but I would still dislike you plagiarizing my work. In short, only the way these words are used are mine. Harry Potter isn't mine, in caveman's terms.  
  
I've always liked the rain.   
  
There's something about it that is just so soothing.  
  
It's like God is crying to cleanse this world and sweep everything away.   
  
It's a moment in life when everything is just on hold for something as comon as water.  
  
It can't be stopped by anything, even the stone walls of a dungeon.  
  
After all, down in the dungeons, it leaks. You can hear the drip-drop of water seeping through the cracks in the stone.  
  
I used to think of the stone in the dungeons as my fortress, my armor, my way of keeping everyone out even as they storm into my room  
  
But it leaks, and they keep coming in.   
  
And as they finish with me, they call me slut, bint, bitch, and other things.   
  
I know that already.  
  
I have always know that I'm what they say and so much more   
  
Maybe that's why I love the rain.   
  
It cleans me as nothing else can   
  
It's the only catharsis that will ever purge the black from my soul.   
  
I know I've been bad   
  
How else would I deserve all of what they've done to me?   
  
When they come into my room and throw me onto the bed,   
  
When they raise their hand and start hitting me again and again,   
  
When they tell me to do what they say or else they'll hurt her again and again,   
  
When they hurt her again and again anyways, just for fun,   
  
I curl up into myself, hoping it will stop soon   
  
And wait for the rain.   
  
Because the rain will always come again   
  
And no matter what they do   
  
They can't keep the rain from coming   
  
They can torture me until I'm insane   
  
But they can't keep the rain from coming.   
  
They can hit me and heal me again and again   
  
But they can't keep the rain from coming.   
  
They can torture her until her screams will linger in my ears forever   
  
But they can't keep the rain from coming.   
  
They can make me scream again and again I don't want to but I have to   
  
But they can't keep the rain from coming.   
  
They can kill me again and again and bring me back even though I don't want to   
  
But they can't keep the rain from coming.   
  
They can do anything   
  
But they can't keep the rain from coming.   
  
I always shower and bathe after they finish, but it's not the same.   
  
Rain is so natural, so right, that it can't help but heal the world   
  
God is crying, so what else can rain do?   
  
God is crying, with every other angel in the sky.   
  
The earth is hurting, and they want to help it   
  
They don't know what to do though.   
  
They're out of ideas.   
  
So they cry   
  
and cry and cry and cry.   
  
The water flows down from heaven   
  
and they have done something.   
  
They have healed the world.  
  
They have healed the world by cleaning it.   
  
They have healed me by cleaning me.   
  
And now I can live again.   
  
I've always loved the rain. 


	7. Sorry

Disclaimer: Harry Potter isn't mine. Plain and simple, people.  
  
Perfect  
  
I'm sorry.  
  
I know that not many people think I am, but I'm sorry.  
  
I have done things that I'm not proud of, but I don't regret them.  
  
I can't  
  
I know I was such an incredible bitch to Harry, but I had so much inside me. And there are things I never told anyone, but I supposed there's nothing holding me back now.  
  
All of my emotions were coiling around me, just writhing, trying to get to the surface.  
  
After all, I had really loved Cedric Diggory. I know we only dated from the Yule Ball up to when he died, but I really loved him.  
  
I was so much in love with him; I was ready to marry him.  
  
Oh, we would have waited, to marry that is, but he had already proposed.  
  
We had already planned out our whole life.  
  
We wanted to marry after we finished school. He was going to go into professional quidditch, I just wanted to have his children. We hadn't told anyone about our plans because we wanted to keep it our little secret.  
  
Then he died.  
  
Harry came out holding his body.  
  
My only thought was that Harry had somehow done something to Cedric. After that, I don't remember anything except the chaotic panic roiling around inside me, feeling like I had to get down to that quidditch pitch and see him, or else my life would end.  
  
I got down to the quidditch pitch  
  
My life ended anyways.  
  
That summer I attempted suicide  
  
I had lost the only rock of support in my life, Cedric. I thought that if I could only get to where he was, everything would be fine again.  
  
But my parents found me, and made me live.  
  
It wasn't just Cedric, though.  
  
When I first saw Harry exiting the maze with Cedric's body with him, I thought that Harry had done something to Cedric, perhaps out of jealousy, perhaps out of spite, though neither options seemed like him. My rationale was overridden by pure worry for the person I thought of as my soul mate.  
  
I never forgave myself for that.  
  
Harry is just so noble, so great, so kind, so brave, that he would never be able to do something like that; he would never be able to kill someone like Cedric Diggory. I do believe he can kill Lord Voldemort, but I have to believe in that unless I want to believe in my own destruction.  
  
I tried to make it up to him the next year.  
  
I went out with him to Hogsmeade  
  
I kissed him  
  
I tried to like him, I really did.  
  
But whenever I saw his face, I would just see Cedric in his place, smiling that great smile, so full of life, and I just couldn't do it.  
  
When my "romance" with Harry went down the drain, I tried to feel good about myself. I even dated Michael Corner.  
  
But it didn't work.  
  
I was trying to drown all my feelings into boys.  
  
It didn't work.  
  
I still loved Cedric with all my heart, and no matter how hard I tried, searching for another "the one", I couldn't find him.  
  
The only difference between then and now is that I have gotten what I fully deserve for being such a bint all those years ago in school.  
  
I never was the same after Cedric, and I truly am sorry for it, but I cannot regret it.  
  
Because if I did regret my actions after Cedric died, I would have to regret ever meeting him, and I can't do that.  
  
I'm sorry. 


	8. Farewell

Disclaimer: Can I stop writing these yet? Anyways, HP isn't mine. The idea for this story actually came from Diary of a Murderer by squaredancer. So without further ado,  
  
Perfect  
  
Everyone has a fatal flaw.  
  
Some weakness that can and most likely will bring about their downfall.  
  
The Ancient Greeks had a word for it: hamartia.  
  
I know I have a fatal flaw  
  
Because I'm already fallen.  
  
I used to feel like I was on top of the world  
  
Now I feel like the world is on top of me, crushing me into tiny pieces of oblivion.  
  
I used to have the best friends in the world who would never let me down nor betray me, even if it meant the death of themselves and all their loved ones  
  
Now my company only consists of backstabbing cutthroats who would kill their mother if they wanted only a tiny little bauble they happened to favor at the moment.  
  
I used to be loved  
  
Now I am only despised, the lowest of the low, the servant to those who serve others.  
  
I know I shouldn't have been weak, but what else could I have done? My friends were all leaving me; Lily was taking away James, even though she had sworn she would never even look at him in a special way, and Remus and Sirius were getting all wrapped up in their own worlds. Remus was sinking even deeper into his books, and Sirius still had all the girls hanging onto his every word.  
  
I was left alone to my own devices.  
  
I didn't want to be.  
  
All my life, I have had people telling me what to do, what to say, where to be, what to wear, even what to smell like.  
  
My mum was a prostitute. I supposed having all those men telling her what to do gave her the desire to order me around, so she would be able to have control over at least one male.  
  
Then I went to Hogwarts. I was so incredibly frightened when I first got there. Perhaps then I would have to think for myself. I wouldn't know what to do: I had never had to think for myself before.  
  
Then, I met up with James, Sirius, and Remus. They were great friends; they were always there for me, encouraging me, helping me with schoolwork, trying to give me confidence when it came to girls, just being great friends. They still ordered me around, but I really didn't care. Someone was telling me what to do again, and all was right with the world; I didn't have to do any thinking for myself, it was already done for me.  
  
But my friends withdrew from me. And there was no one there to provide the structure, the backbone, the brain, that I so desperately needed. Everyone was off running their own lives again, and I was left in the dust with no one there to help me.  
  
It's hard to explain what I felt like: all my life, I had never had to think for myself. Then, all of a sudden, I have to decide everything, from the socks I wear, to when I have to do my homework, what I'm going to eat during breakfast, everything is just thrown onto me to decide.  
  
I couldn't deal with it.  
  
I had to find someone who would think for me so the strain of taking care of myself would no longer be my responsibility. I had to find myself guts, a spine, a brain, to take care of myself.  
  
I found Voldemort.  
  
When I first turned to him, I never expected him to ask me to do anything; I just thought he needed followers, just numbers on his side. After all, I knew I was useless without someone else telling me what to do. I knew for a fact I would never be able to think on my own without someone else's opinions influencing mine. How would Voldemort ever be able to make use of something as pathetic as myself?  
  
But make use he did.  
  
He tortured me until I was babbling all of my secrets out into the night, where his ears heard all. I told them about the girl Sirius was presently seeing, I told them about the way James made puppy eyes at Lily whenever he saw her, I told them about the way that Remus always dove into books whenever a certain girl walked around, I told them about James and Lily's wedding-to-be, and more importantly, I told them about what their plans were for the future, a family.  
  
Most importantly, I told them where the Potters were when I could finally hand them in, the prized package that just might make me loved. By that time, I was no longer dependent on the Marauders; I was firmly ensconced within the darkness with my Master Voldemort. I believed that the Marauders had deserted me, that they no longer cared about me. I know now that it's not true, that they would always have looked out for me. In a choice between Harry and myself, James would have taken the third option and found a way to save all of us. They never loved me any less because I was no longer a part of their lives.  
  
But I was too pitifully weak to see that, so I betrayed James and his family as effectively as I could the first chance I got.  
  
I gave them Harry.  
  
Now I wish I could take it back.  
  
But I can't.  
  
I don't know what to do.  
  
Before I mentioned a fatal flaw.  
  
I was never able to think for myself, I was a mindless little drone that was constantly trying to find a master to take care of it.  
  
My only flaw is insecurity: if anyone withdraws from my life for even an instant, they have left me and I no longer have them anymore, nor do they have me.  
  
The only thing to do that I can think of is to say farewell, and to plunge into the darkness where they will be waiting, with open arms, and liberal wands, once again to the only place I deserve to go.  
  
I have tried to explain myself, and perhaps justify what I have done, but I know it is impossible.  
  
Farewell. 


	9. Make me

Disclaimer: Might as well write one, in case I get sued by JK Rowling (in the insanely small chance that she actually decides to read this and sue me) HP isn't mine. Dammit. The idea from this came from Blue Eyes by Demoness Mark on www.fanfiction.net Hope she doesn't mind me writing my own Voldemort fic explaining what is behind those red eyes. There's also a part of this in which I took an idea from the Incarnations series, by Piers Anthony. It's the part where life is only chaos being organized.  
  
A/N: Does anyone ever read these? Well, if you are and don't mind slash, aka homosexual relationships, can you R+R my other story, Essence of Your Life? I'm still trying to decide whether or not I'm going to continue writing it.  
  
Perfect  
  
Throughout the ages, human beings have fought.  
  
They fight for glory, riches, values, religion, personal opinions, perhaps even just for the sake of a personal argument and their temperament happens to be rather bloodthirsty.  
  
Human nature is filled with blood and a thirst for conflict.  
  
So why am I to be labeled as a tyrant, as the executioner of thousands, when I am simply following my own nature? I am simply being what is most inherently human.  
  
I have decided against the futile effort of wrestling with your own nature to try and win the approval of others, never fully receiving it.  
  
This way, I give the approval, and disapproval when the occasion merits.  
  
Instead of looking up at others, I am looked up to.  
  
Does that make me evil?  
  
But is any human being pure evil? Is any human being pure good?  
  
I once thought that I must have had some spark of what they call goodness within me, but it has been purged through countless attempts at immortality and simply the weight of life.  
  
My father left my mother simply because she was born a certain way, because of her blood. He also left myself, still a child, because my mother had not told him all of her secrets when they were wed.  
  
Is he not also evil? He left a new mother and a young baby to fend for themselves simply because he happened to be a prude. His decision could have caused the death of both myself and my mother, and he fully knew that.  
  
Is that not also evil?  
  
I simply pay back retribution as is due.  
  
Does that make me evil?  
  
I have simply chosen people to carry out my judgments.  
  
Does that make me evil?  
  
It is not that that makes me evil because there have been others to have passed judgment and have indeed been hailed heroic. Indeed, the Four Founders, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin, they all passed judgment on the Muggles and found them to be wanting.  
  
Rather than purging them from the earth, they chose to build a school as sanctuary for magical folk. But they still passed judgement.  
  
That does not make them evil.  
  
So am I labeled as a tyrant because I know Muggle blood is lower than filth and act on that knowledge?  
  
Henry VIII of England divorced two wives, execute two wives, and inadvertently caused the death of another wife due to what his entire realm knew: he must have a male heir.  
  
That is why he divorced Catherine of Aragon, a Spanish princess, his brother's widow. Rumor has it that either he or Anne Boleyn, his second wife, poisoned the Spanish Princess who had bore Henry VIII a daughter, known to history as Bloody Mary.  
  
That is why he ordered the execution of his second wife: he acted on the knowledge that Anne Boleyn was a witch; she was a witch and a foolish one at that. She never should have used love potions to try and ensnare someone who was not meant for her. In her fall, she took others with her, truly unwise if her intent was keeping the existence of wizardry a secret.  
  
Henry VIII did finally get a male heir, only it was a poor, sickly thing. The son managed to live to rule, but not for long. The mother died due to an illness common to women after they have born a child.  
  
Perhaps the divorce of Anne of Cleves was fair; neither party in the marriage wished it to continue; indeed, she was taken as Henry VIII's sister.  
  
But the next is not so forgivable: Henry VIII chose his next wife, a young wife. Catherin Howard. He did give her a choice, but it was not as much of one as one would think; can one truly deny your true sovereign? She was executed for unfaithfulness with a man of Henry VIII's chamber. Her last words: "I die a Queen, but I would rather die the wife of Culpeper".  
  
His final and last queen was the only one to survive his reign. Katherine Parr.  
  
Six wives.  
  
Only one survived him.  
  
He killed three using correct knowledge.  
  
He killed women.  
  
Yet he is not considered evil.  
  
So why am I? I am simply acting on my knowledge.  
  
I am considered evil  
  
Yet I have given a reason for young wizards and witches to be pushed to the edges of their abilities, I have given reason to raise the standards in all wizarding schools, I have created a power base that is so hard to topple.  
  
Yet I am considered evil.  
  
I have killed many, or at least ordered the deaths and torture of many.  
  
And I know I am evil.  
  
But is what I do so horrible?  
  
Every human being starts out as something, either inherently evil, or inherently good.  
  
Life is only the powers in this world trying to bring order to chaos.  
  
I have sent many lives to their end.  
  
Am I not helping in the categorization, the organization of chaos?  
  
Does that make me evil?  
  
When all chaos is finally made sense of, this world will end. Perhaps new order will come, perhaps we will finally have a utopia.  
  
But utopia means "no place". Only due to Thomas More's book, Utopia, has the word come to mean "paradise".  
  
So when the world ends, will we come to paradise? Or will the world end and all matter obliterated?  
  
To find the answer, one must use the only method available.  
  
Am I evil for my curiosity?  
  
Am I evil in my choice of catharsis of this world, trying to find the ultimate end?  
  
Does that make me evil?  
  
When I kill Muggles and Muggle-Borns, am I not simply bringing them to their ultimate fate that they must face no matter what?  
  
Does that make me evil?  
  
When I order my followers to torture little babes to crumble the walls of my opposition's mind, am I not simply following the philosophy of the end justifies the means?  
  
Does that make me evil?  
  
When I conduct experiment after experiment to continue my life beyond natural endurance, am I not simply doing what countless others have done in a quest for immortal life, not yet willing to pass Death's gateway?  
  
Does that make me evil?  
  
Or is it simply a mix of all of the above, that has come together in the combination that is myself, that coils around, making my psyche, my id, my ego, my superego, that encourages the belief that I am insane?  
  
Perhaps I have simply not only purged the "good" from myself, but in one of the experiments, perhaps I have managed to strip away my superego: I am no untroubled by my conscience, so there is no voice in my head telling me to do what is "right".  
  
Does that make me evil?  
  
I will never know.  
  
I will never know what mysterious element makes me evil.  
  
I will never know what makes me. 


	10. Scream

Disclaimer: This isn't mine, etc etc. 'cept mebbe if there is any plot, I guess that would be mind.  
  
A/N: I know I said I would do Trelawney next, but I just wanted to get this out there, I guess. See if you can guess who it is again!  
  
A/N 2: Seriously, can more people R+R my story Essence of Your Life? I'm prolly going to put out one more chapter, see how the people who are reading it take it, and see what I'll do then.  
  
Perfect  
  
I hate it in the dungeons.  
  
The only thing you ever hear are screams  
  
It doesn't matter what kind of scream: ecstasy, fear, joy, laughter, pain, curiosity, I hate it.  
  
It reminds me of them.  
  
They make me scream.  
  
Again and again  
  
And again and again.  
  
It doesn't matter how, it doesn't matter who, it doesn't matter where, it doesn't matter when  
  
It only matters why.  
  
They want to hear me scream because they like it.  
  
They enjoy the sight of my throat constricting, my teeth clenched in an effort to keep my mouth shut but it opens anyway, the look in my eyes when I give them what they desire.  
  
I scream  
  
I don't want to do it. I want to shove them out of my head, out of my body, out of my life. And I succeed.  
  
But only for a while.  
  
Then they come back  
  
And they make me scream again  
  
Punishing me because I compromised their power  
  
And they make me scream again  
  
They make me do what they find such simple fascination in  
  
They make me scream again.  
  
I really hate it in the dungeons. Whenever you think of dungeons, you think of imprisonment, you think of torture, you thinks of prison, you think of stone, you think of chains, you think of whips, you think of hunger, you think of thirst, you think of everything that is wrong with this world.  
  
Dungeons are the very essence of what is a scream  
  
You scream when you need to say something you have to say something and it's no use to try and keep it back it's going to come whether you want it to or not and you don't want it to come at all but you have to let it come and take over unless you want to die and it comes even if you do want to die and try and stop it.  
  
Screaming lets out your soul, it lets out your fears, it lets out your dreams, it lets out your mind, it lets out everything that is in the flesh vessel that is yourself.  
  
It lets out everything you have ever felt everything you are feeling and everything you will ever feel.  
  
At times, I can understand their fascination with the action attached to such a simple words, but those are the days I scream the most.  
  
I scream because I don't want to be like them.  
  
They torture others simply because they desire it, it makes me sick!  
  
Or is it simply because they take me again and again and make me scream again and again?  
  
It's the days when I am fascinated with screams that I am most like them, and I hate myself.  
  
But what else can I be but like them?  
  
They are evil, and evil begets evil, like good begets good.  
  
I can be nothing but evil  
  
And I want to scream because I want to believe that there is something in me that has the potential to not be evil. I don't care if it turns me to good, I don't care if it turns me to simply shady, I don't care if it turns me to neutral, I just don't want to be evil.  
  
Maybe if I scream enough for them, they'll leave me alone, and I can try and find my way, battered and broken, into the world where perhaps not everyone is tortured to their very limit, when they themselves are not even sure if they are insane or not.  
  
If I scream enough maybe someone will hear me and find me and help me get out of this horrible vicious never-ending-no-matter-how-hard-I-try-to-stop- it cycle.  
  
Then I force myself to remember that the only thing I can be is evil and no one will ever dream of helping me.  
  
If I scream enough, maybe their fascination will grow tiring and they'll stop always making me scream again and again and again and again.  
  
Then I remember that I've been screaming ever since I've been born and that no matter what I do no matter how many times I scream no matter how much I beg them no matter what happens, they'll always want to hear me scream.  
  
So I scream  
  
A/N: It's Blaise. I couldn't really decide which sex to make him/her, so I made it ambiguous. I guess Blaise can be male or female cuz guys can be raped. Or even hermaphrodite. Yeah, so I'm just putting this out there. And please REVIEW! If you're reading this, you've probably already read the story therefore I'm not going to say read it, so FCKING REVIEW!!!!!!!! Thank you. 


	11. Stupid

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine, it is owned by JK Rowling and Warner Bros and probably a couple of other people I'm forgetting to mention. No copying or infringement is intended, and you can probably insert a couple more legal terms in here yourselves, I can't think of anything else to say.  
  
A/N: I know *someone* is reading this, so REVIEW!!!!!!!! If you review, I might not be as lazy as I was and write more often.  
  
A/N 2: And just fyi, these ficlets do not go together plot-wise. I'm grouping them all together as one story just bc it's easier. The facts in the different fics do not correspond. So if you see something that isn't consistent with an earlier chapter, it's because these are all one-shots that I'm grouping together in one story because I'm lazy. And I am definitely lazy because I have had this thing for a long time and was just too lazy to finish it until now.  
  
A/N 3: And I may write more than one chapter for several characters. I have an idea for another Pansy fic going around in my head, and I might turn out another Draco chapter. So, like usual, I am promising absolutely nothing.  
  
Perfect  
  
Everyone thinks I'm stupid  
  
Everyone thinks that I can't even string two words together  
  
Everyone thinks that I only think through my stomach.  
  
I'm sick of what they think  
  
Whenever I speak, whenever I voice an opinion, whenever I want to say something that's on my mind, they all simply take my words and throw them back at me.  
  
If I say something in the passion of the moment, not thinking with my mind, they only take that statement and turn it around so that the meaning is completely distorted and I am taken as the fool once again.  
  
I am sick and tired of it, but I can't tell them.  
  
If I do, they'll only take that statement, point holes in my thesis, and simply bury me in words I simply don't understand and probably never will.  
  
I don't want them to see me cry, so I leave.  
  
I know I'm stupid, I know I'm a prick, I know I'm a glutton, I know I'm not the best person in the world, but they're supposed to be my friends.  
  
They're supposed to stand by me, to encourage me, to it's all right when it really isn't, to support me through thick and thin.  
  
They don't.  
  
They just criticize every single fucking thing that I do, say, think, feel, smell, hear, everything.  
  
I am fucking sick and tired of it.  
  
Just because I do not have their beliefs, they find it all right to walk all over me, using their fancy words and make me feel the fool.  
  
I am sick and tired of it.  
  
I know that if I ever mentioned it to anyone else, perhaps Goyle, he'll merely tell me to not listen to them. I can't to that.  
  
They're my friends.  
  
I know it's not a good thing when your only friends criticize you every second your awake, but they're my friends.  
  
I can't just leave them and find a whole other group.  
  
I've already dug myself in too far for that.  
  
I'm already labeled as one of Malfoy's bodyguards, I'm already labeled as a Slytherin, I'm already labeled as evil.  
  
I can't just leave the Slytherin common room and decide to just walk to the Hufflepuff table and just sit down and expect to make new friends.  
  
Everyone will shy away from me all because of the name I have acquired for myself.  
  
I'm in too deep.  
  
They tell me not to listen to them.  
  
I have to though.  
  
He knows everything, and he teaches me.  
  
He can be kind, but I know what else he can be.  
  
He can be like the poison that circulates through your blood, slowly killing you, while you believe it's actually doing you good.  
  
I know he'll kill me one day.  
  
Maybe he won't be the one to actually point the wand at me and say the two fateful words, but I know that he'll cause my death someday in some shape or form.  
  
So all I want to do is run away.  
  
People take me as brawns and no brains, and they're right, I am.  
  
I don't want to be, but I am.  
  
What they don't realize is that I hate it.  
  
I want to be able to think for myself, to be able to defend my own intellect when the occasion calls for it, to be able to not have to depend on my muscles instead of my magic when I need to stand up to someone.  
  
I know that if I will ever break free from Malfoy, I have to be powerful in more than just a physical sense. I know I'll need to be smart, fast, and have an incredible repertoire of spells at my command, more than Malfoy at least.  
  
Malfoy.  
  
Everything revolves around him  
  
I am unjustly judged because of him, I know I am worthless because of him, I will probably die prematurely because of him, yet he's all I know.  
  
He is the only one that has ever even tried to understand me, so I cling to him like nothing else.  
  
I don't want to, and I curse myself (not literally, I'm not smart enough, I know) for my weakness, but I can't help it.  
  
I don't want to be dependent on him but I can't help it.  
  
I'm weak, because I can't stand by myself, I can't help it.  
  
I'm stupid, I want to believe that it's just my brain capacity, that I can't help it.  
  
But I can.  
  
I'm just stupid because I'm an idiot. When they say those things, they're right. I am everything they say and so much more, so much more.  
  
I hate it when they say that, but I can't fault them for it.  
  
I am stupid.  
  
A/N: Wow, I'm just thinking that this chapter just sucked. I've just been lazy, so that's why there haven't been any updates lately. 


	12. Just feel

A/N: I'm in a weird mood, my friend "murphy" wrote a line on IM, I asked her if I could use it, this is the result. I'm tacking this onto Perfect, just cuz I don't want to think up a new title, and I guess this is kind of angsty. And I guess it's time I updated it. Oh, btw, I've written part of a chapter for Snape, I just don't really have any motivation for finishing it right now, ::sighs::. And I guess this is another Draco chapter. I always seem to write his POV.... ::muses::

Disclaimer: ::gasp:: I actually have more than one thing to write a disclaimer for! 1: Harry Potter. If it was mine, I wouldn't be in a weird mood, and this drabble wouldn't exist. 2: the first line of this piece of drabble IS NOT MINE! It is Murphy's, which is what she requested I call her. So yeah, I guess everything else would be mine? ::scratches head:: wtv.

I can only imagine real emotion.  
  
I can't really feel.  
  
I walk around life, I see things, I experience them. I can hear bird song in the morning, I can see curtains being drawn, people waking up, I can practically **taste** this life I'm living.  
  
But I don't feel anything.  
  
I don't really fall in love, I don't really care for anyone, I don't really have anyone. I can say things, I can act like something, and I sometimes even honestly think that I really care. But then I take a step back, and everything's back to how it was, like-  
  
Like this isn't really my life. I'm living in some stranger's body, speaking some script that I don't know about, going through with something that I've never known. I feel like I'm not really here, like I don't really exist. I can feel the keyboard under my fingers, hear the clacking as I hit the keys, but I'm not really sure if it's real. I **know** I'm here, I'm just not, I'm not really existing even. I don't even know how to describe it. I know I can try, but I don't know if I'll be able to say it.  
  
Breathing is supposed to be an unconscious action, you're supposed to breath without even thinking about it. But when I'm lying in my bed at night, or staring at the computer on my desk, or eating dinner, or reading something, I have to tell myself to breath, to suck air into my lungs and let it out again. If I'm sitting in a car, and I start to get lightheaded, I know that my brain has forgotten that I exist, and that I should keep on living, and that I should survive. Then I have to tell myself to breath.  
  
Then when my friends- acquaintances say something, some opinion, about politics, or a movie, or even a song. I don't know how to answer them. What do I say about something that I don't know about? I don't know, I don't care about politics, movies, they mean nothing. They take up several hours of my time, and I don't even notice it. I watch it, I remember it, and I might say that I love it, that I wouldn't be able to live without it, but inside I really know that if it were to disappear from my life, I would just find something else, that it doesn't really mean anything at all. When I listen to music, I try to blare it in my ears, deafening me, trying to make me feel this music, trying to make me feel _something_. It blasts through my mind, sweeping away everything else, erasing everything but **this moment**. Only it doesn't work, because the moment passes, and like a drug, I crave more, but it's not a drug because if it's gone I won't miss it. I can say that I don't know what I'd do without it, I'd even go insane, but I know that I won't, I can't, because I'm already insane.  
  
I'll just sit at the computer, reading something online, I'll laugh, I'll cry, I'll swear, I'll do a million things, bring to life a million verbs, but inside, I'll not do those things. I'll be stone. Or not even stone, because I can't feel this. I can't really feel anything. I wonder if this is how humans are, if this is the way I'm supposed to be, feeling like it wouldn't even matter if I died because even then I don't think I would feel it.  
  
I know that there's no one out there who will put me first. I know that there is no one out there who will ever look up to me. No stranger will ever stop me on the street and ask me if they know me, and really know me. No one's ever going to be honored that I talked to them on the street. I'm never going to be **known**.  
  
Then my rational mind comes in (it always does, it's the only thing that's always there) and tells me to stop being such a bitch, stop being so jealous, stop being so irrational, of course, there are always going to be those on the bottom, and those on the top, unless everything just stops existing.  
  
I can say that I like someone, say that I have a crush on them, even say that I love them. But I wonder. I wonder if this isn't just some carefully cultivated response. If I'm not some robot, telling myself to say certain things to certain questions.  
  
I just feel so- hard to describe, because I don't know what I'm feeling. I can't tell, I never could, I never will. Whenever I'm "hungry", I feel my stomach convulsing, telling me that I need to eat something. I feel my limbs growing faint, like they'll drop off, and I know that I need energy to continue living. But then I go to the pantry, and I look at everything, and there's nothing to fit my mood, there's nothing that I want to eat. Even if I do find something that doesn't make me puke on the thought, I open it, look at it, smell it, and all of a sudden my throat closes, so dry, and I wonder what on earth possessed me to even think about this. But then I feel what my body's telling me, and I remember, and I force myself to eat. But I don't really want to, I don't feel like it. Everything feels mechanical, just- just unreal.  
  
Even if I hurt, even if I'm crying, there's something in me, that just won't, won't, that just **won't**.  
  
I just won't feel.

Please review! It will probaby help aforesaid weird/pissy/bitchy/depressed mood. Pretty please!


	13. Take it aka Perfect

A/N: Amazing what insomnia will do for your writer's block.... The long awaited Snape chapter! On anyways.... ::cough cough:: And I just noticed that this is chapter 13.... spooky.... ::Roswell music plays in background::

**_WARNING_**: This chapter is rater **_R_**. As in, I just upped the rating of this story, cuz well, there's some kinda gross stuff in this chapter. Anyways, if you get into trouble for reading this, ::points at warning:: I warned you.

Disclaimer: If Snape was mine, I wouldn't fuck him up as much as I have in this chapter. I would just only fuck him up as much as JKR has done :-D Just kidding. The point is, I'm not JKR, etc etc, Harry Potter not mine, Severus Snape will never be mine, etc etc....

Perfect

I can't take it anymore.

The screams, hopeless in the night, eyes filled with terror, and I'm the one torturing them, screaming _crucio_ again and again and again-

-they lose their minds from it, I can hear the wails as they lose the final battle in keeping their mind intact. I see the horror in their eyes again ad again, widening as they witness the depravity-

-_mothers, fathers, sons, daughters-_ all gone, with a flick of a wand, _-aunts, uncles, nephews, nieces- _taken into the dark, but not before they scream a final curse into the night-_grandparents, grandchildren, babies, innocent children-_

There's always one left for last, so there's always at least one soul broken, eyes dulling as their spirit cracks under the strain. They lose their mind from just _one night-_! But I see this counless times, I see it again and again-

-and I can't sleepIcan'trestIwon'tIcan'tdreamIwon'tletmeIcan'ttakethemanymore-

I tell myself that I have to do this. If I don't, so many more will die, so many more tortured that I'll have to watch and I can't bear it but I have to and-

And the only excuse that I have is that I have to do this. But that mantra is empty, and I know it. I can't help it. I know that saying "I have to" means nothing.

Because as much as I hate it, I love it. I **feel** the darkness sweep through me when I see their eyes _break_. Later, I'll try to tell myself it didn't happen, it couldn't have. But for that _one second_ when I surrender to **evil**, all I want is to stay there in the night like the sky, listening to the screams like the call of angels, **marveling** at the **debauchery** as if it were the Mona Lisa.

But then I pull back, and guilt floods through me. Why do I do this why torture myself why can't I resist because I'mnotgoodenoughI'mterribleI'mevilI'm_notsupposedtobe_-

I obsess over this. Why can't I be what I want to be? I don't want to feel dirty anymore, I don't want to feel tainted never to be clean never again, never ever neverever-

I know I can't be perfect; I wouldn't be human if I was. But I don't care because I don't want to be weak and hate myself for it. But I do and I don't know why and I'm crying out for an answer-

-that never came, never will. I'm acting like a spoiled brat, never listening to answers, just like what I teach all day long. Just something else that's wrong with me. Listening to me, asking why I can't be perfect even though in the same breath saying that I wouldn't be human if I was.

Now I don't even want to be human. Between humanity and perfection, I want to be _perfect_. I don't want to care, I don't want to wake myself screaming from nightmares I don't remember, can't remember.

I just want it to stop. The torture, the curses. The pain, the guilt. I don't want to care, I don't want to feel. I want to run away, run, keep running, never stop runningrunningfromthisthislifethiseverything-

-But I can't. I can't do anything.

**I can't even kill myself**.

I tell myself that I don't do it because Albus needs me for his _Crusade_, that I can't kill myself yet, because then that many more lives would weight on my conscious.

And I know it's BS because so many souls already suffocate mine, and I don't even hear anything, if anything, Voldemort knows and uses me because he knows. And he knows that I know that he knows that i know and on and on andonandonuntil_Ican'ttakeitanymore-_

**I just can't kill myself**. I've looked over the edge of the Astronomy Tower, I've opened that vial of Draught and put it to my lips, I've pointed my wand starting to say the fatal words _Avada Kedavr-_

-and I never finish. I start shaking, and I have to step down. My hand convulses and instead of a vial of Draught, there are only shards of glass. My throat closes, and I can't speak, can't breath, can't think and I have to put the wand down.

I can't even kill myself.

It just fits so well! I'm about to break from breaking so many people, I'm idiotic and stubborn beyond stupidity, and I can't even summon enough courage to kill myself.

And I have to accept it, take it, live wtih it, or else I hate msyelf.

It's just so fitting, so righteous, so, so-

Perfect.

A/N: Aaaaaand the reason behind the name of this series is finally revealed without me even knowing it! Aaaaaaaand PLEASE REVIEW! It will take you almost nothing but mean the world to me.


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